We were both silent as we ruminated on the consequences of this affair. Brutus was our dear friend, but so was Kingman. But if Harriet shifted her affections from the former to the latter, we might have to choose between the two. Not unlike a couple getting a divorce. They divide their worldly belongings, like the house they shared, or the furniture. But they also end up dividing their friends, since it’s hard to stay friends with both, especially if the divorce is acrimonious. I just hoped we wouldn’t have to choose between Brutus and Kingman. Though if we had to, we’d probably choose Brutus, since he’s the most muscular one of the two of them, and would beat us up if we chose Kingman.
Having fed her cats, Odelia now proceeded to feed Grace, while Chase made inroads in dinner prep for himself and his wife. Gran was also joining us, since she usually ate dinner with her daughter and son-in-law, who were away from home.
I wondered if this was the right moment to broach a delicate subject: the fact that Gran seemed to have forgotten it wasn’t her day to take care of Grace. But Odelia and Chase were discussing other matters, so I decided the topic would keep.
“Have you heard from your mom and dad?” asked Chase as he used a wooden spoon to stir some unknown substance on the stove.
“I’ll talk to them tonight,” said Odelia as she made a valiant attempt to enter food into her daughter’s mouth. Grace was seated in her high chair at the table, and seemed to be having a good time, for she was babbling her secret language, presumably addressing people who weren’t there—perhaps her friends from the daycare center. “Last time we spoke they seemed to be doing fine.”
“Maybe next year we could join them,” Chase suggested as he tasted the food he was preparing. Judging from his frown it wasn’t up to snuff yet.
“I don’t know, Chase,” said Odelia. “I’m not much of a tennis player.”
“Me neither, but they seem like nice people.”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Odelia, but she didn’t sound convinced.
Chase must have picked up on her inflection, for he said,“You know something I don’t?”
“Oh, it’s just that one of them is writing a book, apparently, detailing all the secrets she’s learned about her friends over the years.”
“She’s doing what?”
“She’s a recovering alcoholic herself—Michele Droba’s sister-in-law Isobel. And she deeply feels that secrets are poisonous. They poison our minds and our relationships with others. Which is why she’s been writing her autobiography.”
“It’s not her place to reveal other people’s secrets, though, is it?”
“She seems to believe that it is. That she’s doing her friends a favor.”
“She’s going to reveal Marge and Tex’s secrets, too?”
“I guess so. Which is why Mom and Dad are worried.”
“I didn’t even know your mom and dad had secrets,” said Chase as he took an onion from the larder and started chopping it into little pieces.
“Look at the way Chase is attacking that poor, defenseless onion,” said Dooley.
“It’s a vegetable, Dooley. It’s not a living, breathing creature.”
“Still. He’s feeling the guilt. Just look at him crying.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Chase. “How bad can those secrets be?” He gave his wife a curious look. “Do you know what your parents’ secrets are?”
Odelia smiled as she directed another spoon into Grace’s mouth. This time the food ended up in the right place, and not all over the little girl’s bib. “I’m sure I don’t, babe. And even if I did, what kind of daughter would I be if I told you?”
“I’m your husband, babe. You can tell me anything. I’m very discreet.”
Odelia laughed.“I know. But they’re not my secrets to tell, okay?”
“Okay,” Chase agreed reluctantly, and attacked that poor lonely onion with renewed fervor, throwing a couple of carrots into the mix just because he could.
Dooley looked on with a look of disapproval on his face.“Poor carrots,” he murmured. “What have they ever done to you?”
CHAPTER 9
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Marge was in bed, listening to her husband’s slow, even breathing. It always amazed her how Tex could sleep so soundly, no matter the circumstances. She was one of those people who had a hard time going to sleep at night. She could lie awake for hours if something was going on in her life that worried her. Like now, with this whole business with Isobel’s book. She’d already discussed things with Michele, who said there was nothing that she could do about it.
Their hostess seemed as annoyed about the prospect of their personal lives being laid bare as the rest of them, but Isobel was determined to go through with her‘process’ as she called it. She didn’t seem to care that she was dragging all of them along in her process, unwilling victims in one person’s path to redemption.